


Sent and Received: Coda 11x7

by Speary



Series: Season 11 Coda Fics [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 11x7, Bunker Fic, Coda, Fluff, Follow up to Flight, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speary/pseuds/Speary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean dropped Cas off at the airport. Now all that he had to do was wait. He could do that, maybe.<br/>---<br/>He let his mind go quiet. He turned off the stereo, and rolled down the window. He breathed in the smell of Kansas after a rain. He breathed in the world and thought of how Cas had done the same. He held the smell of the world in for a few moments before he exhaled. The car roared down the road, and the wind whipped at him as he drove. He smiled as the land turned to streaks of green at his sides. Cas had breathed this air too. He had called it home. Dean took in another deep breathe of it and unconsciously raised his hand to his cheek. The distance between them was great, but for just a moment, it felt like it was nothing at all.</p><p>Coda 11x7</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sent and Received: Coda 11x7

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Flight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5247080).

Driving home from the airport had been rough. He had felt like a man crushed. He got into the car and just sat there for a few moments, breathing. He hadn’t stayed in the waiting area after Cas had boarded the plane. He hadn’t watched the plane take off. He had instead left at a brisk clip afraid to stay still. Staying still would lead to thinking. He started the car and cranked up the music. Planes flew out of the airport. He tried not to look up. One of them had Cas.

When he got near the turn for the bunker he didn’t take it. He drove on and let the music blast away his thoughts, his worries, his sense. He picked the hardest album he could find in his collection and yelled the angry lyrics out in the safety of the Impala. Here he could feel; here he could be himself. He came to a small turnout that dipped down to a somewhat dry creek bed. It wouldn’t be dry long, since it had rained the night before and would likely rain again tonight. Dean parked the car and stared past the creek bed to the fields that surrounded it. The tall green grass waved back and forth hypnotically. He felt himself calming down, the song no longer matched his mood, so he turned down the volume and then ejected the tape.

He rummaged through the tapes and found something calm, a little Johnny Cash. It was a newer mix-tape, if one were to consider something made more than ten years ago new. Picking this tape might be a mistake. He sang along quietly with Cash as he slowly meandered his way through the agony of losing someone precious. “Hurt” was one of those songs that one did not just listen to; it was a song to be felt. Dean felt the words dig into his chest. Cas would be back. He would be fine. He had to be the one to go to Gaza. It couldn’t be Sam or Dean. They had talked out the reasons, but Dean felt that he had been selfish. He hated flying, Hated it with a capital H. He also felt that he was no good for cases without Sam having his back. Plus, Cas agreed to the plan so easily, and language would not be a barrier for him as he moved from country to country.

 _Why did he have to agree to this?_ He thought this between the punches of lyrics that were building in momentum and anguish. Cash’s voice filled the car. _Maybe he needed the change of scenery. Maybe he needed to feel like he had purpose._ Dean understood these feelings. He understood why someone would want to have a mission even if it was nebulous and maybe pointless. It was good to feel useful. It made one feel whole again. Cas was a creature made for missions. From pulling Dean up from Hell to dealing with an apocalypse or two, Cas was all about missions in all of their forms. This journey would make him feel whole again, and Dean wondered if he could find a way to feel good about this trip given that fact. He also wondered if there wasn’t a better way to make Cas feel whole again, a way that didn’t involve so many miles of separation.

He started the car again as the chorus wound down. Cash’s melancholy voice graveled out the final words to the chorus, _my sweetest friend_...and onward the words went until it ended. Dean backed the Impala onto the empty road and turned to the bunker, to home. He let his mind go quiet. He turned off the stereo, and rolled down the window. He breathed in the smell of Kansas after a rain. He breathed in the world and thought of how Cas had done the same. He held the smell of the world in for a few moments before he exhaled. The car roared down the road, and the wind whipped at him as he drove. He smiled as the land turned to streaks of green at his sides. Cas had breathed this air too. He had called it home. Dean took in another deep breathe of it and unconsciously raised his hand to his cheek. The distance between them was great, but for just a moment, it felt like it was nothing at all.

* * *

The first package came less than a week after he had left. Dean had been surprised by its arrival so soon on the heels of Cas’ departure. The many stamps on the envelope told him that this had been a very expensive mailing, and that Cas had made efforts toward expediting its arrival. Dean carried it to the war room table and set it down so that he could just stare at it. The script on the large manila envelope was perfectly straight and neat. Each letter was crisp and written in dark black ink. Dean sat and picked up the package again. He leaned close and breathed it in. He smelled leather and dust. He finally tore open the envelope and removed the large book that had to be at least 500 years old. A letter fell out of the envelope when he tipped it.

The letter too was written in perfect script. Cas had written it to just him. The _Dear Dean_ across the top was noticeably missing Sam’s name. He traced out the letter with his fingertips gently as if he could use the letter as a bridge to its source, to the hand that had written it. He considered the book for a moment, opened it even. He decided to leave it for Sam to consider further. He got up and made his way to his bedroom, letter in hand.

Sam was coming down the hall, running his hand through his hair. He was still dressed for sleep in his sweats and t-shirt. “Hey Dean.”

“Hey Sam. Cas sent a book. It’s on the table,” Dean said as he passed him on his way to his room.

“Oh, does it look promising?” Sam stopped and turned to Dean who was still moving to his door.

Dean stopped and turned back. “Not so much. It’s not that old, but maybe you can find something of worth in it.”

“Whatcha got there?” Sam pointed down at Dean’s hand and the letter hanging there.

“Nothing. Go check on the book. I’ll be back out in a bit.” Dean hastened off to his room before Sam could ask anymore of him.

His bed was not made from the night before. He had been having trouble sleeping and had assumed that he would return to it earlier, even though he had not. Sleep had been problematic since he had dropped off Cas at the airport. The drive had only given him a temporary comfort. Replaying their final moments at the airport had brought him back to what he felt before. Watching Cas slip away as he boarded the plane had turned into haunting dreams that populated each night.

The dreams would begin just fine. Cas would lean in, the scent of crisp autumn air surrounding him. He would press warmth into him before they even touched, then his lips would settle high on his cheek. Dean’s hand was often pressed to the spot as if to seal the moment there, keep it from escaping.

Then the dream would change. Cas had said that he would call or text everyday. It had now been five days, and Cas had failed to keep up his end of the deal. Dean had texted and called. No answers came back from either effort. In the past forty-eight hours he had begun praying with greater concern lacing his words. The last couple of hours had become even more fervent. Sam had told him not to worry, that it was just the fact that they had not adequately explained international calling. This comforted Dean only marginally. Thus the prayers that went something like, _Oh, Cas who art in Gaza or maybe Rome, The way that you make an international call is..._ True it was likely odd, but _hey whatever works_. Still, there was nothing, so even that hadn’t worked. _Maybe the directions need to be clearer._

He settled back into the bed, shifting his back against the headboard a little, bunching up the pillow at his back. He held the letter close and began reading.

_Dear Dean,_

_The phone does not work. I have failed to uphold my promise to call everyday as you have already noticed. For that I apologize. I have sent the book only because it contained a chronicle of the Darkness as it relates to creation. It is vague at best._

_Mostly, I needed to feel as though something was being done here. I also needed to send some sort of communication before your prayers became too worrisome. I am fine. Do not feel the need to fly around the world to assure yourself of that. I know how much you hate planes. I now understand the sentiment completely._

_I will be traveling for Rome soon. I will try to find a way to do so that does not involve planes, but that may be unreasonable. I do not like the way that the vessel shakes and is governed by the winds. It is also tedious. There must  be a better means of travel for humans and broken angels. I also miss my car. Your car is also missed. I miss many things._

_I have one more text to consult here. I will be meeting with a man named Solomon Hess. He has been helpful, and he may have a few items that will be relevant. He has documents that he has been unable to translate. The little that I have seen seem to be about pre-human lore. How someone has managed to come by this knowledge is impressive. I assume that the pieces were transcribed by an early prophet._

_You will receive another package in a few days. I hope that you and Sam are doing well and are not taking any needless risks. I miss you. Keep praying. Your voice is a comfort to me._

_Castiel_

Dean read the letter again. He focused on parts that were more personal. _I miss you._ He prayed. _Hey Cas, miss you too._ He paused and wondered if he should add the word buddy to the prayer. _Wouldn’t want to be too cheesy._ He let it go though. Cas had not qualified the words with a term like buddy or my friend or something else. He said that Dean’s prayers were a comfort. He wondered why Cas would need comfort. He wondered what had been bothering him.

Then he thought of other words. He called himself a broken angel. Dean scowled up at the ceiling. _You aren’t broken. At least, I don’t see it that way. You’re no more broken than Sam and I anyway. We’re a little worse for wear given that we are always facing dangerous things, but none of us can be called broken, least of all you. So let that go, Cas. If you don’t, I’ll have to start listing all of the ways that you are not broken, and that might make me sound sappy._

He wondered if he should go out to the other room, help Sam with the maybe pointless book. It was frustrating in a way that Cas was halfway around the world and all that they had to show for it was possibly useless. _Cas could be here. He could be literally right here._ Dean looked at the space next to him on his mattress. The blankets were still tucked up on that side of the bed where no one slept. Dean tended to keep to the other side even when his sleep was restless.

He closed his eyes a moment, not intending to sleep, but sleep came none-the-less. Cas was in Gaza. Everything had an almond brown glow to it. It was bright there, like there was too much sun for the season. Cas sat at a small table in an outdoor cafe. He was writing. His fingers curled around a pen that tapped at the edge of a single slip of paper. Dean drew closer, intending to surprise him. Angels were not to be surprised though, even in dreams.

Cas looked up at him, his cheeks puffing up with his smile. He set aside the pen and stood to greet him. Dean worried. He had dreamed this dream before, and this was often the point at which the dream would turn dark. He stopped just in front of Cas. They shared the space like there was no one else around. Dean was conscious of Cas’ hand on his arm. His eyes looked into his with all the warmth of July. Dean took in a lungful of air and smiled back. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Cas said, “This is an unusual way to pray, Dean.”

“It’s a dream, not a prayer.” Dean reached out and ran his hand up Cas’ arm, a mirror to what Cas was doing to him.

“Reminds me of when I use to visit you in your dreams.” Cas brought his hand up to Dean’s cheek. “I will come home soon.”

“Shouldn’t have sent you off. I can’t seem to sleep right. I blame you.”

Cas tipped his head to the side. “I don’t see what my absence has to do with your sleep cycle.”

“Never mind.” Cas’ hand on his cheek was a pleasant distraction. His thumb moved back and forth over his day’s growth of stubble, making a little noise that Dean was focused on. Cas leaned his head into Dean’s chest then and turned their stance into a type of hug. Dean moved his arm around Cas’ shoulders, holding him there. His heartbeat likely drummed faster with the moment.

Dean woke up then, and the feel of Cas in his arms soared away from him as he shot up from the headboard of his bed. Sam was standing in the doorway. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean rubbed at his eyes and felt the emptiness on his chest. Something was missing. He dipped his head down, imagining a mop of brown hair pressed to the spot, a tickle of breath curling out there. Cas didn’t need to breathe, but sometimes Dean caught him doing just that. He understood now that Cas did these things to make memories, like he had as they drove to the airport. He had said that he had wanted to breathe in Kansas, home. In his dream, Dean had felt Cas breathe as he laid his head against his chest. Dean had breathed him in too. He looked up at Sam, “So you check out the book Cas sent?”

“Yeah. It is not so useful. Hopefully his trip won’t be a bust.” Sam pointed at the letter that Dean held on his chest. “So what did Cas have to say?”

“Not much. He didn’t think that the book would be useful either. He just sent it to communicate with us about what he was doing. Said he can’t get his phone working out there. Maybe I need to explain international calling better.” Dean folded up the letter and slipped it into his nightstand to read it again later.

“Well, snail mail isn’t the worst, but I imagine that he finds it slow.” Sam came up from a lean and stretched to the ceiling. “Wanna go into town and grab a bite?”

Dean thought about the unstocked fridge for a moment and said, “Sure, just let me get changed.” He got up then and pressed back his thoughts of Cas for later, for when he was alone again.

 

* * *

 

The second package came three days later. Dean had been too busy to pray, too busy to do much of anything. Sam had found a case, and time had been devoted in earnest to research. The package was a welcome distraction. Sam had opened it before Dean had gotten to the room. Sam’s fingers were curled around a letter. Dean stalked over to Sam and reached out to the letter. Sam swooped away and started reading aloud. “Dean, I miss you...” Dean lunged at him and Sam moved with the grace of a newborn moose. It was enough though. Dean was not tall enough to get the letter out of Sam’s hands that were now held high up over his head and angled down for reading purposes.

“Give it, Sam.” Dean’s face took on a look of menace.

“I miss your prayers. Your prayers never come anymore. I fear that you have been harmed. Please pray Dean. I need to hear from you.” Sam darted to the other side of the table as Dean lunged again.

“Damn it Sam. Give it to me.” Dean moved to the left, and Sam dodged to the right. He laughed at Dean.

“Anything you need to declare, Dean. I mean, this here sounds like some solid romance novel stuff. Starting to think those girls had it right in their little play.” Sam moved again, putting more space between them as Dean focused on just how he was going to get to him. “Destiel,” he whispered loudly. Dean lunged again. “Or was it Deanstiel?” Sam laughed and Dean caught him, knocking him to the floor with a loud hmmf of air.

“Give it.” Dean had his knee solidly pressed to Sam’s chest. Sam handed the letter over with a smirk. “Not a word from you.”

Sam made a mock zipping motion over his lips. Dean got up and even reached down to help him stand. Sam said, “So...”

“Not one word.” Dean stalked away before Sam could test him.

“Just wanted to know how serious this was. Should I give him the talk when he gets back?” Dean slammed his bedroom door in his wake, but he could still hear Sam laughing in the hallway on the other side.

He toed off his shoes at the edge of the bed and took a seat. The headboard pressed into his back a little. He shifted a bit to get comfortable. He set the letter on his chest for a moment and stared at the door, making sure that Sam’s shadow had gone away from the grate.

Dean lifted the letter and scanned the neat lines of crisp letters, written with so much care and concern. Each letter curved in a careful dance across the page. One letter joining to the next, each word spaced out minutely from the next in precisely the same amount of space. He pulled it to him and breathed in the scent of the paper. There was a hint of coffee in it. He wondered if Cas had been drinking coffee somewhere just to seem more human.

The smell of the paper, the thin lines, the tangible nature of the paper made another bridge for him that extended over oceans and miles of land. It pulled him from his room to a cafe, to a space that had Cas and a world awash in almondine light.

_Dean,_

_I miss you. I miss your prayers. Your prayers never come anymore. I fear that you have been harmed. Please pray Dean. I need to hear from you._

Dean felt a stab of guilt as he read it. He sent up a short prayer. _Cas who art in Gaza or maybe Rome now, sorry about the praying. I got rather busy. No excuse. We are good. Sam’s a little bitch. We are unharmed. I’m reading your letter now. Wish you could figure out your phone so we could talk._

Dean stopped, not sure what to say next. He turned his attention back to the letter instead.

_The documents that Hess gave to me were much more useful, but I will need to go to Rome. He has some contacts there that will help me. I will make short work of it, as I am too distracted to accomplish much. I long for home. The world here brings no comfort._

_I killed a demon last night. He stood at the edge of a crowd, warming his hands over a fire that had been made in an old oil drum. He saw me and knew what I was, but he did not fear me. He ran, but his heart wasn’t in it. I caught him at the end of an alley. He said we were on the same side. He said that a rebel angel and a demon could work together. He said he knew me, and that I was partial to demons. I asked what he meant, and he mentioned you and then Crowley. It was enough. I ended him. Then I questioned myself. I couldn’t end Metatron, but I could end this demon for what, for nothing._

_I need to know that you are okay. The world is too vast. I use to think that it was quite small. Time is passing slowly. It is a miserable thing meant to torture me for my past wrongs. Each day inches slowly to the next, and I feel every second of it like knives cutting away at my form. I will fly to Rome. All other transportation is too slow. I must speed this up, end this too slow existence._

_Pray Dean, please pray. I need it. Please._

_Castiel_

Dean set the letter in the nightstand. He closed his eyes and focused on his prayer. It would cover the mundane and the important things. It would sound rambling if it were a conversation. That didn’t matter though. What mattered was the comfort that it would bring to Cas. He could make the world a little smaller maybe for just a few minutes at least.

* * *

Days dragged on, but Dean made sure to pray with each one that passed. Sam had all of the books and notes spread out on the table. The two of them had looked them over. Dean scoured through some and Sam did the others. At least while they were busy, Sam did not mention the letters from Cas. He also, mercifully, did not continue whispering _Destiel_ every time Dean passed him in the halls. _One day of that was enough._ A week after the last package and things finally felt a little settled between them again.

Then a package showed up, this one from Rome. The envelope was one of those thick padded types, and it was littered with stamping and marks that told the tale of its travels and the expense that went into its quick arrival. Sam had carried the package into the room and set it on the table. Dean didn’t want to seem too eager as he hovered over it. Sam didn’t need anymore ammunition in his brotherly ribbing assault rifle. Sam moved away from the table over to his laptop that sat at the other end. He opened it and looked back at Dean. “Well, open it.”

“Okay.” Dean opened it and there was a large leather bound book that looked like it would fall apart if he wasn’t careful. The skins used to make the pages inside were expertly made but not expertly bound. A folded letter slipped out with the book. Dean did his best not to show his excitement. Then music filled the room. It was coming from Sam’s laptop. Bob Seger’s “Night Moves” curled up to his ears. Dean shot a look at Sam and said, “Don’t you night moves me.”

Sam just smirked. “Yeah, maybe I should save this song for later huh?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Was this it?” He waved a hand over the book.

“Actually no. I have a crate in the car, but I figured I’d just bring this one in for now. I knew you’d want the package that had the letter.” Sam got up and took the book to his laptop.

Dean moved off to the hall with his letter. “I’ll be back.” He made his way to his room. He settled into his space on the mattress and unfolded the paper. And since it was now a habit, he smelled the paper and caught the scent of cardamom and something that seemed like a strong black tea. He closed his eyes and concentrated on it as he inhaled the scent again. He could almost see Cas with a steaming cup of something in front of him as he wrote the latest letter.

_Dear Dean,_

_I will be leaving here soon. The crate contains all that I could dig up. The last item I will carry home myself so that I will have occupation on the long flight home. I feel as though my efforts here were useless. I wish that I had found something more here._

_I appreciate your prayers. You are very detailed in your descriptions of the day’s events. I am left wondering though how you are feeling. You seem to avoid sharing anything that touches on your mental well-being. Let me know that you are okay, not fine. I have come to understand that word for what it is, and if you say you are fine, I’ll likely leave here the minute that you think the word._

_I chose to wear the clothing that you packed for me. Surprisingly most of it fits without any interference on my part. I watched the sunset, and the grey buildings took on colors that could only be described as majestic. They were painted in oranges and pinks. I put on the plaid shirt because of it. I miss home. The shirt smells of home and is comforting. It smells like you. I’ll be stealing your clothing more when I return._

_I believe that the one book will be of the greatest use, thus I sent it in the separate envelope. Read the section on formlessness. You’ll have to translate it, or wait for me to return. I wrote some of it out. The paper with the quick translation is tucked into the back of the book._

_You prayed about possessions the other day. You talked about the Impala and searching for my car. I hope that you don’t think that I need it. I would rather not have you focusing your energies on something so unimportant as my car. I have all that I need. I’ll be home soon. We can talk about that more when I return._

_Yours,_

_Cas_

Dean traced out the lines of the letter. His fingers settled over the end, _Yours, Cas._ He noted the way that it was different from the rest of the letters. The sign-off felt more personal. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, wondering what he could say in a prayer that would be okay. Things had changed in such a short time. He wanted the change. He was happy with the change. It felt like progress somehow.

He thought of the wide green field of grasses that had calmed him the other day, by the dry creek bed. He pictured it as it seemed to roll like sea waves under a gentle breeze. He began his prayer to Cas and wondered if he could pray images and feelings of serenity. The grass rolled in his imagination, and he coupled the image with words. _I’m doing well, Cas. I am just waiting for our team to be back together again. We’re stronger together than apart._

Dean thought of the cool autumn air on his face as he had driven home. He called to mind the scent of Kansas. He formed words again. _I have hope, Cas. We’ll get through this Darkness thing. We’ll get through this mess that I have unwittingly made. We’ll get through all of this together. Just find your way home. Find your way back to us, to me._

He got up and smoothed back his hair with a casual swipe at his head. He set the letter in the nightstand, and before he left the room, he looked back. He was tired of pushing aside what he was feeling. He was tired of not reaching out for what he wanted most. He had thought of peaceful things, but he did not feel peace. He did not feel well, not since Cas had gone. He began his prayer again and said, _Without you here, Cas_. He paused and licked his lips as he considered what he was about to do. _Without you here, I’m just fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. Just fine._ He flicked the light off, and hoped that the message was received. He hoped that Cas would understand. The message was sent on a prayer, and all he could do now was wait. He would wait through hunts, and through restless nights. He would wait with prayers and hopes brimming over. He would wait, just wait, and soon enough Cas would be home.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this. If you get bored, you can find me on Tumblr as [Spearywritesstuff](http://spearywritesstuff.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Drop me a comment or a kudos if you liked this. Thanks a bunch.


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